The best line I've heard about the horrific oil leak that may or may not be closed, and may or not be still leaking away and may or may not have something to do with the full moon and may or may not be 11 million gallons or 50 million or eleventybillion gallons depending on which wafer-thin BP-issued Lie Producing Machine was activated this week, comes from Jimmy Fallon, who said, "BP wants Twitter to shut down a fake BP account that is mocking the oil company. In response, Twitter wants BP to shut down the oil leak that’s ruining the ocean." (This is, in fact, a Jimmy Fallon joke, despite my initial crediting of it online to somebody else, which I did because somebody else took credit for it. The music industry was right: This "Internet" is AWFUL.)
At press time, the best information I can get about the oil leak is that no one has the remotest idea what to do about the oil leak; it's like the "Lost" island of Gulf-fouling holes in the ground, except this will almost certainly have a much less satisfying resolution. At least the characters in "Lost" had the good fortune to end up in a heavenly anteroom or whatever, it is much difficult to open the door to such places when you're a cormorant who's dripping with a full-body coating of black goo.
This much is clear, though: The "top kill" method, the 490th oil-plugging maneuver attempted by BP and one with easily the best name of the bunch (seriously, nothing good has ever happened with a "top hat," just ask President Lincoln), may POSSIBLY BE WORKING! Or not. We just can't know until the BP scientists have videoconferenced with the PR department and international marketing.
But speaking of marketing, BP fans will note that there's now a group tweeting as http://twitter.com/@BPglobalPR, which is one of those ideas that you CANNOT BELIEVE YOU DIDN'T THINK OF WHEN YOU DRINKING LAST WEEKEND but whatever, this isn't about me, this is about corporate evil, and wanting to occasionally eat some fish.
Chances are good you've already laughed at @BPglobalPR, unless, of course, you work for BP, in which case you probably have to laugh at it by attempting to plug up your own chortles before your boss walks by and you have to pretend you were looking at Marmaduke. Of course, this is unlikely, because your boss probably isn't there, because he's either outside dodging thrown plastic-bagfuls of nickels and maybe some salsa containers en route to what will likely be his highly egged car, or online desperately clicking through job-search boards as quickly as he can through uncontrollable sobbing.